


Newt Gets Audited

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Established Relationship, Fem Newmann, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Math Porn, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Rule 63, Taxes, also they're lesbians because charles and i are gonna fill this tag, yes they actually fucking do taxes in explicit detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: “Yes. For the past, ah,” she checks her smartwatch, “ten years, you filed absolutely no tax returns, no income tax, and basically no paperwork along those lines of any kind.”“Well I was being possessed by a hivemind of genocidal aliens during that decade,” Newt says. “I don’t think they knew how taxes worked.”Or: Newt and Hermine dive headfirst into the domestic joy of taxes.





	Newt Gets Audited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnyxSphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/gifts).

> for charles, who didn't believe i was actually writing this. your faith in my good judgement is flattering, and incorrect.
> 
> if YOU TOO are super gay and don't know how to do math, here's a good article on taxes: https://www.artofmanliness.com/articles/taxes-for-beginners/

“Date night!” says Newt cheerfully, plunking a very important-looking briefcase down onto the coffee table. Formerly absorbed in her reading, Hermine looks up with no small amount of trepidation. Newt and containers large enough to hold dubious items are never a pleasant mix.

It is, however, a very nice briefcase. Tawny brown. Obviously expensive. Very low chance of anything… squishy.

“Oh good Lord,” says Hermine, eyeing it. “What horrors have you brought into our apartment now?”

Newt flicks open the clasp and lifts the lid like a showgirl on an episode of Wheel of Fortune. Inside are several _very_ thick stacks of paperwork, all stamped with a large red label that reads “IRS”. She grins.

“Babe, you are never gonna guess how I got arrested today.”

_Several hours earlier…_

When Newt enters the office of Lillian Chu after one of the most uncomfortable forty minutes in a waiting room of her life, she does not expect her to look as cheerful as she does.

“Dr. Geiszler!” she chirps. “Take a seat, please. Thank you so much for coming in.”

“I was grabbed on the street by cops and hauled to the American embassy,” Newt says only semi-sarcastically. “No one has told me literally anything about what’s going on.”

Chu blinks her very large pair of puppy-dog eyes. “Oh. They haven’t?”

“No.”

“Ah. I see. Well, you were arrested.”

Newt’s mouth is a flat line. “Yeah. That was a thing that happened.” She shifts in her seat, “Look, I thought we already took care of the whole ‘war crimes’ thing?”

“Oh!” says Chu again. “Oh, no no no, you weren’t being arrested for war crimes.”

“I’m not?” Newt asks, taken a bit off guard. Chu shakes her head.

“No. You were arrested for tax evasion.”

A lot of thoughts race through Newt’s head in that moment, mostly concerned with getting a phone call into Hermine, but the most prevalent one ends up being, _I knew I forgot to remind those dickheads about something_.

“Tax evasion,” she echoes, still not entirely processing this. Chu nods politely.

“Yes. For the past, ah,” she checks her smartwatch, “ten years, you filed absolutely no tax returns, no income tax, and basically no paperwork along those lines of any kind.”

“Well I was being possessed by a hivemind of genocidal aliens during that decade,” Newt says. “I don’t think they knew how taxes worked.”

“We do have that in your file,” Chu affirms. “You’re a former prisoner of war with international asylum under duress. However, we do still need documentation of your financial records during that time.”

“Okay,” says Newt, tapping her foot nervously. “Well, I don’t actually really remember much of it at all, on account of the whole not being in control of any of my facilities thing. Due to alien possession.”

Chu’s smile tilts slightly towards strained. “Yes. Yes we are extremely aware of the alien possession. However, and I am genuinely sorry for this, we need the forms.”

Newt sighs heavily and slumps a little in her seat. “Okay. Uh, is there a thing online I can fill out?”

The smile tightens. “Well. Typically, yes.”

“Typically.”

“Yes. However, since your circumstances are rather extenuating and unusual…” she twists her hands, “we’ll need you to fill out the documents by hand.”

Newt can feel her face fall in slow motion. “I… ten years worth of tax returns? By hand? Not even mentioning the amount of trees that’s gonna kill, that’s like, a guaranteed carpal tunnel diagnosis.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do,” says Chu, a tad snippily. She reaches underneath her desk and pulls out a large briefcase. “You’ll find the paperwork in here. Please fill everything out to the required specifications and return it to the embassy as soon as possible.” A flash of a smile again. “Thank you so very much, and I sincerely apologize for any stress your arrest might have caused you.”

“I had a panic attack in your bathroom.”

“It’s the best place in the building to. Very clean stalls.”

Newt lets out a hiss of breath through her nose. “I’m only saying this because I don’t even have a reputation worth saving here, but you people are a fucking nightmare.”

Chu looks genuinely sympathetic at this, and passes Newt a complimentary IRS-branded pen. “You are correct, Dr. Geiszler. Welcome to bureaucracy.”

_A return to the present time…_

“So whaddaya say?” says Newt with as much pep as she can muster after walking all the way back to their apartment in Japan-level winter chills. “You, me, and a briefcase full of tax returns I don’t know how to fill out makes three?”

Hermine looks genuinely interested in the prospect. “Hmm,” she says, and pushes her (fucking adorable) reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Well, I’m sure I could get Mako to send us the payment receipts they took from the Precursors’ computer. And it might be tricky, but we can always ask Miss Shao to help fill in the gaps.” She looks up at Newt. “Since you were technically being kept by them, do you think you could be considered a dependent?”

“That assumes they did shit like, I dunno, feed me, and take my meds, and generally take an interest in my health and well-being,” says Newt dryly. Hermine, already slipping into a state of mathematical hyperfixation, makes a noncommittal noise. Newt pokes her.

“Yes?”

“So you’re seriously interested in helping me do this? Like, for real?”

“Newton,” says Hermine, deadly serious, “nothing would make me happier.”

“Huh. I forgot this is the kinda shit you genuinely do for funsies,” says Newt fondly. “I’ll start the kettle and heat up some chili. You want more pencils?”

“Oh I do hope I’ll need them,” says Hermine, and suddenly the night before them doesn’t seem so daunting after all.

_Hour One_

“Do we file jointly for this year now that we’re married?” Newt asks. Hermine just stares at the records Mako faxed over.

“Good heavens,” she says faintly. “You really were making a ridiculous amount of money, weren’t you?”

Newt raises her eyebrows. “Oh, I never knew how much. Lemme see.” She leans over Hermine’s shoulder and scans the pay stubs on the page. When she reaches the salary column, her eyes nearly bug out of her head.

“I was making seven hundred fifty thousand a year?!”

_Hour Two_

Newt shifts her position on the couch from belly flop to crawling over Hermine. “Okay, so I know you count as a disabled veteran, but do I? Like, is having aliens in your brain a fileable disability?”

“The aliens are no longer in your brain, so I’d say no,” says Hermine, slotting a new pair of batteries into her Texas Instruments. Newt crosses her arms.

“Bullshit. They were when these forms should have been filed. I should be exempt.”

“You hadn’t lived in Massachusetts for six months prior, so it’s a ‘no’ either way.” 

“Bullshit!” Newt shouts this time. “The government is a fucking scam!”

“The government got those aliens out of your head, Newton,” Hermine chides. Newt rolls her eyes.

“No, _you_ got them out. And Jake. And Tendo. And Nate, but only like a tiny bit, and also Liwen helped and I’m pretty sure I remember the cadets doing… something.” She thinks. “I dunno, it’s fuzzy.”

“Lucky for you, they did withhold a good amount from your paychecks,” says Hermine. “Not that you couldn’t afford it all back now, but that makes things easier.”

“I love the reality of them making a stupid amount of money, and us just spending it on fancy teas and supplies to make elephant toothpaste,” Newt says with a soppy grin. 

“You’re still not allowed to put gasoline in the latter. I don’t care for the terms of your parole, but I draw the line there.”

Newt shoves her lightly in the shoulder. “You’re no fun. It would be awesome as hell and we both know it.”

_Hour Four_

“Wait, Newton, did we account for marginal tax rate?”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Zum Teufel, verdammt noch mal, ich werde Glas essen!”

_Hour Five_

“So,” Hermine explains, “Your _effective tax rate_ is a weighted average of the different tax rates that apply to your income. For example, if your marginal tax rate is 25%, your weighted average, effective tax rate is about 14.5%.”

“Cool,” says Newt, pouring herself a third cup of coffee. “Don’t forget to add the personal exemption for you in the 2035 form. That’s about 3.7K I think.”

“Were we married by the cutoff date?” Hermine asks, but scribbles it down anyway. There’s a pile of pencil shavings slowly accumulating on the floor beneath her. She has a dried splatter of tea on her cheek. Newt wants to marry her all over again.

“This is so fun,” she says instead. “Couple stuff. Pretending we’re normal people. Doing taxes for the billions of years old aliens who were living in my head for the last ten years. Did they make any donations to charity for public image stuff? We can write that off.”

Hermine grimaces. “They donated ten thousand dollars to Autism Speaks.”

Newt clenches her jaw so hard it hurts. “Okay. Okay. Then I am gonna go get a thank you card and send it to Nate for punching me slash them in the face. Super duper.”

_Hour Seven_

Newt puts the last page of her 1099-B forms from 2028 through the paper shredder, watching the pieces slide out with intense satisfaction. “Herms,” she calls to the living room, “how does it feel to have done ten years worth of rich person taxes in one night?”

There’s only a light snore for an answer, and Newt walks back in to see Hermine sprawled across the couch, cardigan slipping off one pale shoulder, her breath making the pages by her head flutter. She stifles a snicker with her hand, scoops her arms underneath her, and shuffles down the hall to their bedroom. 

Fuck saving the world twice, she thinks, _this_ is their accomplishment for the memoirs.


End file.
